The Long Road
by TheKnittingLady
Summary: The ongoing adventures of the Drs. Reid.
1. Chapter 1

**The Hospital, Pt 1**

**UCLA Medical Center  
**

Gwendolyn Reid's eyes fluttered open. "You should have let me go."

Spencer Reid sighed. After she had woken up she had been completely disoriented to time and place. She was uncooperative and uncommunicative and had been showing signs of anxiety and worsening depression. At first she had reacted angrily, fighting the nurses, and had been put on Lorazepam for her troubles. Now she was clearly slipping further and further away, becoming more disengaged from everything, more apathetic. They kept the lights in the room dim, thinking that too much sensory input after so much time in captivity was worsening the anxiety, and kept trying to encourage her to take liquids at least, but she had refused everything, now this.

I am missing something, he thought. I am missing something huge right in the middle of all this. What am I missing?

She just shook her head, and replied in a whispered, broken voice. "You should have just let me go."

Movement caught his eye as his best friend Derek Morgan stepped into the doorway. The rest of the team had gone back to Quantico, to work on paperwork and be there in case an emergency presented itself. Derek had the time off to burn, so he had told them to contact him if it was a bad one, and he would be on the next flight. In the meantime he had found an extended-stay hotel near the hospital. The bill was on Rossi, at his insistence.

Derek waited until Spencer was close enough to not be overheard, "Everything all right?"

"I honestly don't know. I'm trying to decide if she's going suicidal on me. I'm missing something huge. I don't know. What's going on?'

"Do you know a Dr. Karen Kajie?"

"No, why?"

"Because she is sitting at the nurses station watching you two on the monitor and listening over the call channel. If you don't know her, I'll go deal."

"Please." Great, Spencer thought, now what?

-

Derek walked over to the nurse's station, straight for the woman sitting there. She was of average height and weight, had graying brown hair down to her waist, pulled back at the temples, a long skirt that might have been picked up traveling, chunky jewelry that looked the same, and multiple tote bags. Mid-fifties to mid-sixties, he thought, laugh lines and smile lines and not the other kind and a lot stronger than she looks. She stood up to meet him offered her hand and a smile. "You must be SSA Derek Morgan. I know the nurses told you my name. Go ahead and call me Karen."

"Okay, Karen. I'm sorry, I don't know…"

She rolled right over him. "I think time matters right now. So why don't you call Ms Garcia and have her run a background check while I go intercept Dr. Wentworth and keep him from making things worse." She nodded at the head of Psychiatry who was coming toward them as she handed Derek and envelope addressed to Dr. Spencer Reid, in a familiar hand.

"Um, how do you know about all of us?"

"Oh, Jason told me."

"Jason? Jason Gideon?"

"Yes. He's an old friend."

**Somewhere else.**

"_I can't go, you know. If they do this together it will make their bond stronger. If I'm there they'll triangulate off me as the parent figure and they'll just have to do it all over again when I leave." He looked up at the plaster design on the high, Victorian ceiling and sighed._

_She pulled the sheet over herself as she rolled over. "My thoughts exactly. Just be sure to pay attention to Bosco while I'm gone."_

_He reached up to the large cat, lolling in the sunlight on the pillow above his head. "I will pay Bosco lots of attention while you're gone."_

**Here**

Derek was just getting off the phone with Penelope when Spencer wandered out to see what was going on. "Dr. Karen Kajie, apparently one of the current experts on sadomasochistic torture and torture in general." He rattled off the impressive resume as Spencer tore open the letter.

_Spencer –_

_She's good. Use her._

_Gideon_

"According to Penelope she's somewhat controversial, but she was supposed to present in New York next week, Geneva next month, a whole list of other places, but three days ago she canceled everything for the next six months." He looked over Spencer's shoulder at the letter. "That's it?"

"That's enough." Spencer looked up as the two doctors came down the hall, arguing fiercely. The towering Dr. Wentworth went first. "Spencer, your wife is suffering from acute anxiety and depression. Now a conservative treatment with the appropriate medications…"

"…will only exacerbate the problem." Dr. Kajie broke in. "Dr. Reid, it is far easier to put someone on medication than to take them off. I suggest we try solving the problems before we medicate her into oblivion."

I didn't even need to see the letter from Gideon, Spencer thought. "Dr. Wentworth, I want Dr. Kajie to take over my wife's case. We'll move her to another hospital if necessary."

Dr. Wentworth was clearly offended. "If you did the head of medical would have my head. Fine, do as you wish and good luck." With that he turned and headed down the hall.

Derek sidled over to his friend as the woman in question walked over to her post at the desk, "That was a fast decision."

"Dr. Kajie called me Dr. Reid. That suggests that she sees me as an adult and her equal and by extension Gwen as well. The other physiatrists here have been treating us as freak show children." He led the way over to the woman at the desk.

"Observation," she walked them back over to the desk, where you could see Gwen's bed on the monitor. "What do you see?"

"My wife is miserable," Spencer wrapped his arms around himself. "She said I should have let her go."

"I don't find that surprising. Roll up your sleeve please, to the elbow." She turned to Derek. "Agent Morgan, what do you see?"

Derek studied the woman in the bed. She was holding a small teddy bear on her lap, slowly running the unbandaged part of her arm over its head. "From the look on her face, I see despair, anger, longing. It's odd how she's holding that bear."

While Derek was talking Spencer rolled his sleeve to the elbow. Karen problem wrapped her hands around his forearm and started rubbing with a twisting motion. He pulled away and she pinched him. "Ow!"

"Don't fight me." She kept it up.

Derek continued. "She's become attached to it over the past few days. Dr. Wentworth said she was regressing as a result of the trauma, trying to get back to a time in her life before it all happened. But if she was doing that she'd be holding it closely, hugging it like a child would a toy." He thought a bit. "She's going for the tactile stimulation, isn't she? Abuse victims often suffer from depersonalization; she could be trying to reconnect with her own body."

Karen smiled. "You're close, Agent Morgan, Derek. In fact you have part of it." Movement caught her eye. "Now, watch as the nurse comes in." She kept rubbing Spencer's arm. As he pulled away, she pinched him a second time.

As soon as the door was heard Gwen pushed the bear aside. Her face fell into a pleasant, pleasing, mild mask, her eyes vacant. "I'm here for your vitals." The nurse commented, and proceeded to take them, pulse, temperature, checking tubes, and so on.

"Now what the hell just happened?" Derek saw the reaction, but could not figure out a why. Spencer just shook his head and tried to pull away, getting a third pinch. Fine, Spencer thought, if it makes her happy. He let her keep rubbing.

"In your profile, what were these unsubs looking for? What gave them the pleasure?"

"Control, having control over a woman, every part of her body or mind. But we're not trying to control her here."

Karen nodded. "I thought you didn't like this, Dr. Reid?"

"I don't, but you were pinching…" Oh hell, oh hell, how had he missed it? "Behavior modification, how did I miss it?"

"Someone fill me in?" Derek turned from the monitor.

Karen spoke up. "These men like to control every aspect of a woman, right down to her personality and responses, just like you said. It's not enough that they control her operant behavior, what she deliberately does in response to stimuli, but they want to control her respondent behaviors as well. So, for example, it's not enough that they have control of her personal boundaries, that they can touch her intimately whenever they want, they expect her to be happy and pleasant about it as well, and not cringe or react in fear. So they teach them not to fight back against unwanted touch by administering a painful stimulus every time they react, like I was doing with Dr. Reid. Of course, because it's so difficult to regulate respondent behaviors over time the subject associates every unwanted touch with the negative stimulus."

"So they expect every touch to cause pain?" Derek looked from Karen to the monitor and back. That could be a problem.

She nodded. "Which means every time the staff goes in there they are reinforcing the response. That she doesn't have control over her body, and that if she protests she'll receive a negative stimulus."

"The Lorazepam," I should have known, Spencer thought. "Which was why you disagreed with Dr. Wentworth."

Karen nodded again. "Fighting back means losing even more control. In a way she's still in captivity, all you have done is trade the unsub for the medical staff. It's for the best of reasons, but it still feels the same. So, she's continuing to disassociate, continuing to feel anxiety, and her depression is getting worse. More drugs means less control over her environment and reactions, and exacerbates the problem further"

"No wonder she wished I would have just let her go." Spenser was about ready to give up and go home. I'm useless here, he thought.

"So, how do we fix this? I mean, she has to be in the hospital." Derek was at a loss.

"Well, her reaction to that toy is a good sign. In addition to the stimulation and trying to reconnect, her refusal to show any interest in front of anyone is a way to take back some control over her own emotions and reactions. It's something she can do and enjoy on her own terms. If she's responding positively to that, odds are she'll respond positively to more." Karen smiled and headed for the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Hospital, Pt. 2**

**UCLA Medical Center**

"Now, go in slowly, one at a time. May I call you Spencer? Spencer, you first, and leave the door open; we want to be observing her reactions."

She has a sense of confidence, Spencer thought. She knows this. He realized he had started trusting this new doctor, Karen, almost from the start. It's because she has been observing so carefully, he realized, she's not just going from codes on a chart. He walked into the dim room slowly, smiling at his wife. Apathy, he realized, despair. And she hasn't pulled away from the bear. That's a sign of trust, perhaps. That she's not afraid of letting me see her reactions. That she doesn't think I'm going to hurt her over them. He heard Derek's footfalls behind him, watched as she pushed the bear down, and her face fell into a pleasant mask. She doesn't trust Derek, he noted, is it because he's male? No, she didn't trust the nurse either. Does she trust anyone else but me? Is that what Karen wanted me to see?

Both men turned when they heard a tap on the door frame. "Hello, Dr. Reid. My name is Dr. Karen Kajie, may I come in?"

Karen was standing there, smiling at the woman on the bed. Spencer blinked at her a moment. "Um, yes, of course."

There was something very patient about the smile Karen gave him. "I'm sorry Spencer, but this isn't your room." She turned back to the woman on the bed. "May I come in, Dr. Reid? You can say no, if you like of course."

Spencer turned and looked at the mixture of complex emotions passing over his wife's face, ending with a wary curiosity. Slowly, she nodded.

Karen remained where she was. "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. Can you repeat that?"

"Um, yes, come in."

"Thank you. It's very nice to meet you Dr. Reid." She walked closer to the bed, careful not to touch it in any way. "A mutual friend of ours, Jason Gideon, asked me to stop in and offer my services."

While Karen spoke of her background to Gwen, Derek came up behind Spencer and kept his voice low. "Nice. She's reestablishing her sense of personal space, giving her some control of her environment. Look how she doesn't touch the bed."

"She didn't come inside her personal space without permission, and is staying outside intimate space, namely the bed. It's clear she's respecting a boundary, which implies the existence of a boundary. Requiring her to respond verbally helps to orient her to the present and using her professional title, speaking directly to her all implies that she sees her as an autonomous adult worthy of respect. Why didn't I see this? Why didn't we see this?"

"Maybe we're all too close."

Spencer tuned back in to what Karen was saying. "Now, I know your husband holds your medical power of attorney, but I'd rather he not sign the paperwork giving me access to your records without your verbal authorization. I'm sure Agent Morgan can stand as a witness.

Gwen turned to her husband. Why can't I think, she wondered, my thoughts keep slipping away like water? "Spencer, what do you think?"

"Gideon suggested her, that's good for me."

"All right," Gwen turned back to Karen and took a deep breath. Something has to give, she thought, something. "I'll work with you."

"Excellent, now, can you tell me what time it is?" Gwen shook her head. "Day of the week?" Another shake. "Date? Month? Season? Do you know which hospital you're in? Which city?" Every answer was negative.

Karen smiled and winked. "Let's see how they do, hmm?" She turned to the two men. "All right gentlemen, she's disoriented to time and place. Potential causes?"

Spencer spoke up first. "Derealization due to a reaction to trauma? Disassociation as a self-protective measure? Apathy as a symptom of extreme depression?" All damage to her mind, he thought. Is she too damaged to go on? Is this my fault? I could have tried harder to find her. I should never have left California.

Karen smiled as if she was reading his mind. "We'll deal with you later. Derek?"

"What he said, I'm no psychologist."

"No, but you are a trained observer. Look around and tell me what you see."

While Derek looked around the room Spencer watched Gwen, the wary curiosity back on her face. It's the most interest she's shown in days, he thought, even this is a good thing.

"Hey, man, check it out." Derek caught Spencer's attention. "There's no clock in here. There's no calendar. The music is set to shuffle and repeat. There is no newspaper, no brochures or flyers. The blinds are drawn, so the light is artificial, and nearly constant. And she's on a clear liquid diet, isn't she? So it's the same every meal. There are no external cues about time or place at all. Hell, I'd be disoriented in a place like this."

Spencer looked around. "You're right; I don't know why I didn't see it. I expected it in the ICU, but not in a standard room. Damn it!" This was getting past frustrating. Every screw up cost her something, and he was making them over and over.

"You're too close to this, man. You're as much a part of this as she is. Look, just relax; let me and Karen do the thinking for a while."

"Thank you Derek. I'm glad to be part of the team." Karen laughed, the happiest the room had been for days. "Would you get my bags from the nurse's desk, please?" As Derek stepped out she turned to Gwen. "For your information, dear, it's Thursday, the 18th of June, and it's about 11o'clock in the morning. You're in the UCLA Medical Center in Los Angelis, California.

No one told her, he thought. It was as simple as we never thought to tell her. Spencer watched in something close to awe as a slow smile just crept up the edges of his wife's cheeks. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "It's summer."

"Yes dear, its summer. With any luck we'll have you out of here before it's completely over." She looked over as Derek dragged in her bags, one of which had a large ivory rectangle of a thing sticking out of it, a thing that dangled a cord. "Would you mind if I helped redecorate a bit?" Gwen shook her head, a little less wary, a little more curious now. Derek pulled the thing out of the bag and pointed to it, a question on his face. "There are some heavy pins in the bag as well, would you and Spencer hang that right above the window, please."

While the two men went about their odd task Karen put a few things around the room. A calendar, one decorated with seasonal images, went where it could be seen from the bed, and a digital clock on a small table, one she had requested from the hospital earlier, now doing duty as a nightstand. "It's rather dim in here; would you like the blinds open?"

Spencer looked over his shoulder, "The occupational therapist suggested we keep the lights dim. Too much visual stimulation after so much sensory deprivation is supposed to induce anxiety."

Karen nodded, "That's excellent advice. If you want them open and start feeling nervous or scared, you can close them again dear. It's entirely up to you."

Gwen just looked at her. If I say yes, she thought, they can take it away again. But then they can take everything else away too. I think I could live with it, if they took it all away. But I think I have to try. She looked at the closed window and nodded.

Spencer opened the blinds, and the brilliant California sun flooded the room, reflecting off the white walls, causing Gwen to raise her bandaged wrists to cover her eyes as the light stabbed them. He immediately went to close them again, but stopped when he heard the emotion in her voice, "Don't, please!" He went over to sit on the side of her bed, blocking out the others in the room. She's crying, he realized, as she squinted in the light, looking from him to the ocean out the window and back again before she had to close them.

"What's wrong?"

"It's just…I haven't felt the sun in so long." The longing was strong in her voice. Please, don't take it away, she thought, I can't bear it after all.

"Then we'll leave it open. I'm sorry." I'm saying that a lot these days. "I didn't know it was so important to you."

"May I make a suggestion," Karen broke in. The thing she'd had them hang above the window turned out to be a cloth shade, one that would open and close with the help of a chunky remote. She used double sided tape to stick it to the nightstand. "Give it a try."

The remote buttons were large enough that Gwen could use them even with her hands bandaged. She played with it, lowering and raising the blinds, until the sun was out of her eyes but still fell across her, warming her. When she turned back to Spencer she was smiling, a true, lovely smile.

"Still think I should have let you go?"

I have the sun back, she thought. I'm tired and I don't like it here at all. But it's Thursday and it's summer and it's beautiful out there, and maybe I can get out there someday. "Maybe not so much after all."

**There**

An aid walked into a hospital room with a lunch tray.

Dropped it.

And screamed.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Hospital, Pt. 3**

**UCLA Medical Center**

At Karen's suggestion they gave Gwen some time to rest. Karen sent Derek off on a mysterious errand while she and Spencer had a chat at the nurse's desk, where he could keep an eye on her door. About thirty minutes later he headed back to her room. Gwen had asked them to lower the head of her bed, and when he came in she had somehow managed to curl up on her side, her back to the door. He walked around the bed, concerned, until he saw that she had pushed back some of the sheet, and was smiling. "You look very feline."

"I feel very feline. You don't realize how much you take things for granted." Until they're gone, she thought. I could go lie on the sand and drink in the sun and the sky and never move again.

"I talked to Karen a bit. She offered some advice."

"What did she have to say?"

He pulled up a chair and straddled it, careful to stay out of her sunbeam. "She said that I needed to stop jumping to the worst conclusion all the time. That I needed to ask what you are thinking, often, and not make assumptions. That I shouldn't just let things go if my instincts tell me you're not telling me everything, but that I shouldn't push you into talking if you're not ready. And that I'm going to feel like I'm making it worse, not better for a while, but that in the end, just being here is help enough, maybe."

"It is. I'm not sure I can trust anyone else." She curled a little more to look at him. "I imagined you'd find me and take me straight home. I'd have a bath and you would cook me breakfast, and everything would be the way it ought to be."

"I think I hoped the same thing. But it's not working that way. I'm sorry."

She shook her head, slowly. "Tell me it will someday. You'll make me breakfast and I'll get a bath...."

"You mean more than a sponge bath?"

She shuddered. "Yes. I don't like those. I think I'd rather be dirty."

He made a mental note to talk that over with Karen. "I promise, we'll get there. I have confidence in our mental abilities." He grinned as he got a tentative smile out of her. If all else fails, poke fun at yourself. "Karen said I was supposed to ask you what you wanted for lunch. She said she didn't think you'd tell anyone but me."

"Mmmm. She's right." She closed her eyes again and smiled. "Fried eggs over easy, English muffins with peach jam, sausages, bacon, French toast with maple syrup, orange juice, real milk, and hot chocolate with whipped cream."

"Seriously? You haven't been eating." He was shocked. Since waking she had refused everything, even water.

"Mmm hmm. It's just all so difficult." She reached over and shut the blinds a little, the better to look at him. "I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to hurt you, Spencer. You don't forget."

Oh, he thought, I never would have thought of that. That she might be trying to protect him. "Gwen, I have been working with the BAU for years now. I've seen some pretty horrible stuff. There is nothing you can tell me that I haven't imagined a hundred times over or more." He took a deep breath. "I want to help you. And knowing what you're thinking is the only way I can. You don't have to protect me."

She thought about that for a long moment, then turned and looked at the pitcher of water on the table. "I've been looking at that for days now. I haven't tasted clear water in so long. But every time someone holds the glass I remember…." She looked over at him. "I'm sorry."

"Flashbacks, of course." He managed a sheepish smile. "Don't be. Flashbacks are one of the most common symptoms of Post-traumatic stress. Exposure therapy is considered one of the most effective treatments for PTDS. It identifies the cognitions, emotions and physiological arousal that accompany a fear-inducing stimulus, and attempts to break the pattern of escape that strengthens the fear response through measured exposure to progressively stronger stimuli until habituation is reached. But it's more than likely too soon for that. I just didn't think an action as simple as drinking a glass of water could be triggering. Why are you smiling?"

"Because you still ramble."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I missed it. I like listening to you."

For the slightest moment, he felt like he had a wife again. "What are you remembering? If you want to tell me."

She looked back toward the water. She's distancing, he thought. Remember this, talk to her when she does this. "This one time I hadn't had anything to eat or drink for a few days. I was so thirsty I was starting to hallucinate at the edges. Finally he came downstairs. I couldn't use my hands, or get off my knees, so he held a glass for me to drink, but then he poured it all over my face instead."

Spencer didn't think he'd ever felt this angry before. Not even with the bullies at school. If it wasn't for his training in dealing with unsubs he'd never be able to keep his voice so calm and even and quiet. "He must have given you water eventually. I mean, you're here now, you didn't die from dehydration." He watched her drop her eyes, as if she was afraid or ashamed to even tell the ocean what had happened. "You don't have to tell me, of course." That earned him a nod at least. "But if you don't I'll just keep making educated guesses that might be wrong."

Her voice was a little thin, distant. "That's all right. I can risk that."

"They put out these videos, of what they were doing. The team didn't let me see yours." He threw that in quickly when he saw her face fall. "I won't, unless you want me too. But I've been assuming what happened to the others…" She just nodded, and his heart exploded. All I have is my mind, he thought, so I need to use it. He sat back and contemplated the water glass on the tray, and her bandaged hands. "Well, you're not going to be able to hold that glass yourself, clearly. The straw would be most efficient…" He caught her shudder out of the corner of his eye. "…but I'm guessing that anything involving the verb 'to suck" is out too. Hm. Hold on."

He stuck his head out the door to ask one of the nurses for advice, only to find Karen sitting there, chatting with another woman. "This is Eva, the occupational therapist. I asked her to come up and get started sooner rather than later. We'll join you when lunch arrives." Eva was a polite, short, plump woman with brown hair and a very pleasant smile. She had a box of what looked like the remains of a yard sale on the cart she had brought with her, as well as other items he didn't recognize.

"Um, I'm looking for a way she can hold a glass on her own?" Eva poked in the box and came back with a large mug-like thing, with chunky t-shaped handles. Even with her hands braced she could slide them under the handles and lift the mug easily. "It's designed for arthritis patients." Eva explained "Now I know your wife isn't arthritic, and she can get her hands back if she works at it, but for now these items might help."

"Thank you." He took the mug and left the two to their discussion, returning to the room. "Can you sit up?" He filled the mug as she scooted herself around in the bed. He left it on the table while he went to grab the actual lunch menu. By the time he turned back she was drinking as it if were the finest nectar. And this morning I swore she was suicidal, he thought, she just needed the control, and to not be reminded. Why didn't I think of it? Am I that sheltered? I look at the victims of unsubs all day long, but I never really think of it from their point of view. "All right, you have a choice of broth, chicken or beef?" He blinked as she shuddered again. "Not broth?"

She took a deep breath. "That's not broth. That's a warm, salty, funky smelling brown liquid. Force me and it will come right back up."

"It's a good thing they're in custody." He muttered, as he marked no broth. "I'm not forcing you to do anything. I'm guessing the apple juice is out as well. Grape or cranberry?"

"I can choose?" He nodded. "Cranberry."

"Jello?"

"Cherry, if they have it. Do you really think they'll bring this stuff?"

"Yes, I do. Tea?"

"I feel like we're conspiring. Chamomile?"

"If that's on the list. Popsicle?" He caught the shudder again. "What? Oh." Idiot. "I'll take it off the stick for you."

"In that case, lemon, if they have it, or lime. Green."

He made the appropriate notes. Completely different choices than the previous trays, but we never thought to ask. "You'll be all right with yellow?"

"It's not really yellow, it's kind of an amber. Especially if you've been drinking alcohol. Does this mean someone is going to try to feed me again?" He noted another shudder.

The custody may not matter. I am in the FBI after all. They might let me in the prison, if I explain to the guards. "Karen is outside with an occupational therapist, I think she has some ideas."

"Good." Ah, he noted another tentative smile.

"Why wouldn't you tell anyone else what you wanted to eat?"

"People can taunt you with knowledge like that. If you're hungry enough."

"Well, I'm going to see to it that you're not hungry again." Small steps, he thought as he made a note to order himself the same meal, maybe we can manage lunch.

**There**

He stepped up to the microphone.

His speech was eloquent, passionate and confident.

He was pleased to have a chance to be a candidate.

**Note**: I'm sorry this is short, and these are slow coming. A minor illness around the house has my attention. Rest assured, I plan to keep it up.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Hospital, Pt 4**

**UCLA Medical Center****– One week later**

It was a day of minor celebrations. Gwen was up and moving, albeit carefully and small distances. She'd healed enough to have certain tubes removed, finally, which helped her immensely. She had progressed through a clear liquid diet to what they called full liquids, which weren't much better. No one had understood why she simply could not eat what was on her tray, until Karen pointed out that the thin, creamy texture and whitish color matched certain bodily fluids, and given that, would they eat it? With the doctor's permission fruit was added as a flavoring and food coloring as a disguise. So things progressed to where her IV was removed, and they hoped for a real meal after moving to a rehabilitation unit today.

But that was to be after the most blessed thing Gwen had heard of since she came here.

A real bath.

The constant turnover of nurses was a problem, Karen had said. There was never enough time for her to get to be comfortable with any one of them, and every time someone new touched her she shut down. So they ended up engaging a part time private nurse, Susan, to handle the more intimate details of bathing and dressing. At first she had wanted Spencer to help her with this, but he had refused.

"It just doesn't seem right. It feels like everyone else has looked their fill, except my husband. That doesn't make sense to me."

"Yes, but with us it should be something special, not casual. Besides, the human body regenerates all its skin cells every 30 to 120 days, so by the time I see you I'll be seeing something completely different. Anyway, when you're ready we'll go there."

And so it was Susan who unwrapped her hands, helped her in to a big, steaming, jetted tub, and gave her a few minutes privacy.

For a long moment she just sat there in the blissful heat of it. All that time I swore I'd never be warm again, she thought; all that cold aching. All that time I smelled, no I stank, everything stank. All that filth, it's all utterly gone. This almost feels unreal. If my hands didn't ache I wouldn't believe it.

She looked at her clawed hands, tried to flex them once again, then as best she could she ran them over her body.

This is mine, she thought.

She gently ran her hands over the parts of her body, remembering pain, remembering humiliation. This is mine to protect now, mine to say yes or no. Mine to feel and care for and treat well. It's all mine again. Mine.

She sat there with the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. It all felt different, bony, flat and rough with scars in places, others that didn't respond at all. That can change, Karen had said. Respect your body, don't hate it. It survived, it's strong. And if you take care of it, it will be tender again. No, that's a good thing, she'd said in response to Gwen's expression of fear, it ought to be. I know it's hard to believe, but someday you will enjoy that more than you can imagine right now. So take care of it, give it what it wants and needs. Encourage it to heal, and it will.

It will, she thought, I'll make it so. She curled her arms over her breasts, remembering how much she wanted to protect them so many times, and now she could, and she finally broke out and cried.

Susan waited until she heard the expected sobbing stop before coming in to help her wash her hair and get out of the tub. Gwen had taken Karen's advice and had it trimmed. Not cut all the way short; that would have felt too wrong. But they had a stylist who came to the hospital, and who cut off the worst of the damage, until it hung between her shoulder blades. Spencer had brought her lotion and powder, the stuff she used to use, the stuff that smelled like roses and clothing, real clothing. She hadn't worn clothing in years. She ran the backs of her curled fingers over the soft things, marveling. She hadn't realized how protected simple underwear could make you feel, how much it insulated you from the world. She hadn't realized how good it would feel once Susan helped her put it on, pulled her hair back into a ponytail, even encouraged a bit of perfume.

Eventually she made her way out of the bathroom, and back to the bed, about as far as she could go before her legs started shaking from exhaustion. She waited for Spencer and Derek, who were off on their daily mysterious errand.

Spencer had been talking with Karen as well, both alone and with Gwen. Even before he started talking Karen had suggested that Derek find two places nearby, a boxing gym and a shooting range. Spencer had been taking out his anger at the men who hurt his wife at both of them, interchangeable, and as a result was improving in his fighting ability and his aim. Derek kept him company, offered pointers, and gave him someone BAU familiar with whom to talk. He also kept the hotel room where Spencer pretty much showered and changed, made sure he ate, visited daily to try to keep everyone cheered up, and ran the occasional errand. Otherwise he was enjoying the beaches and nightlife in Southern California. More precisely he was enjoying the ladies of the beaches and nightlife of Southern California, and he was enjoying himself immensely.

So the two men were returning from the shooting range when they got to her room, only to find her sitting up, frowning as her braces were put back on. I don't blame her, Derek thought, those look like torture devices. The braces kept her wrists steady, and allowed them to place traction on every finger. Having them kept in mitts for so long meant that the muscles had shortened and weakened, and the joints had begun to solidify in place. For now it was traction to encourage the muscles to grow longer, and regular stretching and bending to loosen up the joints. They fully expected she would need surgery on both hands, but if they worked at it she could regain full strength and mobility in about six months to a year. Derek couldn't imagine being without the use of his hands for a full year. It was a question of how much she could tolerate the pain, they had said; if she could keep the braces on for at least six hours a day, preferably eight, and stretch the joints daily she would do all right.

She'd laughed at that. A strange, hard laugh Spencer had never heard before.

Since that meeting she had kept the braces on constantly, taking them off only for hygiene or for meals. And she had insisted that Spencer learn how to stretch and move her fingers as well as the physical therapist. Now any time they were sitting there listening to music or reading she would offer him one or the other to stretch and move, up to a half dozen times a day. Yes, it was painful, sometimes excruciatingly so. But when that was pointed out she only laughed that cold laugh again and replied that she had taken far worse.

She's grown tough, Spencer thought, as he watched her slip into the braces once again. It's a change. I don't know if I like it or not. I suppose it's to be expected, but I want my gentle girl again. "All ready to go then?"

"Yes, I think so. You packed this morning?"

"Yep." They were off on a wild journey, all the way across the hospital. A new rehabilitation department was opening; she was going to be one of the first patients. There for a month, until she was strong enough to travel, then they were returning to Quantico to finish her treatment there. He had been willing to stay in California until she was completely released, but when he suggested that she might like to go back to Cal Tech for a bit, back to the only home she knew, she had been clearly terrified. So he dropped the subject, and planned for Virginia instead.

We still have a long way to go, Spencer thought, as he pushed his wife out of the room. She needs to learn to walk and sleep without nightmares, and not be so afraid. But we'll get there. Today I have hope.

**There**

They were surprised. After everything that happened. Why now?

Her mother cried.

Her father decided to stop at the bar tonight.

Her kid sister decided to do what her boyfriend wanted, before someone could take it away.

The cops knew something wasn't right. But they were told to close the case.

The nurse on duty knew something wasn't right too.

**Later**

Nurses talked about things. The duty nurse talked to some old school friends, now at different hospitals in the state, a couple who worked in the prison system, one at a psych hospital.

This is not right, she thought. Why is no one doing anything?

She made more calls, sent more emails, IM'd a few people, asked more questions.

Finally she made up her mind, and made one more call.

"May I speak to Aaron Hotchner, please?"


	5. Chapter 5

**The Problem**

**UCLA Medical Center**

"So you said you wanted to see a plastic surgeon. Why?" Karen smiled over her tea cup at Gwen. She was sitting next to her husband in window area of her room, as they had their first therapy meeting of the day.

"I have a scar I want removed." She would ask, of course she would ask. Karen always seemed to know exactly where the tender spots in her armor were, and always poked at them.

"Just one? I thought you had a number of them."

"Well, I do, but I want this one gone."

"Which one? And why?"

Gwen took a deep breath, shifted in her seat and lifted her skirt. High on her inner thigh was a small oval, no more than an inch long. In it was a heart topped with a skewed cross. It had been burned into her skin.

"He was the first who…" She took a deep, shaky breath. "He wore this ring, with this raised imprint. He said his family had used this symbol for two hundred years, to brand their cattle. Now he used it when he was…the first one in a cow, so everyone would know."

A brand, Spencer thought. Someone branded her. He immediately made plans to go to the gym with Derek later that afternoon.

"You look angry Spencer." Karen had been watching him, while Gwen went for another tissue.

"Someone branded my wife." He kept his voice even and mellow, even light. "I'd say I'm fucking pissed. On the other hand, it really doesn't mean anything."

"What do you mean?" Karen looked curious.

"Well, there is no official definition for losing your virginity. I mean, the classic definition is the tearing of the hymen, but that can be torn by anything from an internal exam to riding a bicycle. There's the penetration argument, but that would mean that using a tampon would cause you to lose your virginity. You could say the first time you risk pregnancy, but with modern pharmacology you could have intercourse for a lifetime and never risk a pregnancy. First orgasm would imply that you could lose it while masturbating. First penis in an orifice is just impossibly cruel to rape victims, especially given that any effect of that penis, tearing, penetration, pregnancy, have already been covered. And the most kind I've found so far, trusting another with your body, means you'd lose it the first time you had to have surgery and you trusted the surgeon. Or the anesthesiologist, I guess."

"So, is there a definition that means anything to you?"

"I believe so. I think when you're making love with someone, the first time you realize the possibilities of pleasure inherent in that act, is when you stop being a virgin. I think that's something you can't understand until you get there, but once you do your world changes. All of your priorities and relationships shift, even the one you have with yourself." Or so Derek keeps telling me, he thought.

"There was nothing pleasurable about any of it." Gwen was still sniffing. "I never want to do anything like that again."

"In that case I'd say you're still a virgin. And I never want you to do any of that either." Spencer had no problem agreeing with her. "But I think if you refuse to be open to the possibility that there might be something different out there, then they have taken something from you. After all, would all the poets throughout history who truly loved their ladies and have written about physical love have sung it's praises if their ladies were that miserable afterward?"

Gwen managed a smile through her tears. "You said that the day before our wedding day."

"Does it still work?"

"Remarkably." She couldn't take his hand, so she leaned into his arms. "I still want that brand removed."

"Of course. Who would want to be reminded of something that horrible?" He smiled down at her as Karen went to answer a tap at the door, and dug a small box out of his pocket. "This might be really bad timing, but if you still want to..." He opened the box, revealing a plain gold ring hanging on a chain. "I mean since we're talking about being open and all."

She sighed, a happy sigh. "I'm not ready. I'm not healthy enough yet. But I think I will be someday."

"I know. We can wait until you're ready."

He will be kind, she thought. He will be gentle and kind and perhaps it will help undo some of what they did to me. And I still love him. "But I know I want it to be with you." She sat up a little. "Put it on me."

Spencer could almost feel the world tilting right as he returned her wedding ring to her. He was already wearing his, in gold.

**BAU headquarters, Quantico**

The team settled in around the conference table. Penelope Garcia had set up a video conference with Derek Morgan, who was logged in from the FBI building in downtown LA. Hotch opened the meeting while JJ started filling in the board.

"Last night I received a call from a nurse at Crocker River Medical Center in Antioch, California. She informed me that Wendy Garsden committed suicide the day before. Apparently she overdosed."

Emily Prentiss winced, "Wasn't she one of the women we rescued from the white slavery chain?"

"Yes. In addition, Megan Kaymore and Felicity Brontman also overdosed, both at different medical centers."

Rossi spoke up, as he looked at the pictures. "How do you overdose while in a medical center? I thought the drugs there were very tightly controlled."

"They are. Kaylee Wayben suddenly went catatonic last week; she's no longer capable of speaking to anyone. Lilith Bryant is in a coma, she was hit by a car the day after she was released from the hospital. And Mavis Willobie is missing. She lives in Big Sur, California, her family said she left a note that she was going for a hike, and she never came back."

"That is six out of the seven women we rescued from the white slavers." Prentiss looked shocked. "What the hell?"

"It gets better. Mark Benkhurst hung himself in his cell. Paul Bettenby OD'd on heroin behind bars, John Wilkens had a heart attack and died in the prison infirmary, Booth Marsten was stabbed by a fellow inmate, and Johnny Flores was beaten so badly he's also in a coma."

"Wait a minute, are you saying that in the past month six out of seven witnesses and five out of seven suspects are all either dead or missing or out of commission? And you heard this from a whistleblower, not through official channels?" It was Rossi's turn to be shocked.

"Yes." Hotch double checked his notes. "As near as I can figure, the only official investigation of any of it is the search and rescue unit still looking for Mavis Willobie. I spoke with an officer whom I took a seminar with in Antioch; he said the investigation was officially shut down from above."

"The Bureau investigation?"

"No, all these crimes were committed in state. It's being handled at the state level."

"Still, did no one see the connection?" Rossi was clearly confused.

"I don't know. I do know something is wrong."

"Hotch." Morgan spoke up, looking way past concerned. "Doesn't this mean Gwen is in danger?"

"Yes, she's our only remaining witness. I'm sending you back to the hospital with around the clock security. Can you tell me anything about her condition?"

"Better. But she can't travel; she gets exhausted walking down the hall."

"As soon as she can travel I want her back here." Morgan signed off, and Hotch turned back to the others. "The only suspects left are Brian Wilkowitz, the one who did the original kidnapping, and Joshua Jacobs, the last one they called 'The Reaper'."

Prentiss took a turn. "It could be that they don't know that we have The Reaper, he was the most secretive of the group. They might not actually know who he is, or that he's in custody. And they might be setting the first one up as a fall guy."

JJ looked at her, confused. "You keep saying "they", does that mean you're thinking there are more unsubs out there?"

"That is the most logical suggestion." Rossi answered her. "Someone we didn't catch is trying to clean up the mess."

"Garcia, I want everything you can give me on everyone on this list since the rescues. We have to assume someone is coordinating this and see if we can profile them. JJ, I want wheels up in an hour, we'll start in Sacramento. I want to know why we weren't told anything."


	6. Chapter 6

**The Visit**

**UCLA Medical Center**

Spencer and Gwen had settled in the courtyard and had just pulled out the chess set when they saw a developing circus out in front of the rehab center. A passing aid informed them that it was the ribbon cutting, and that a number of speeches were planned, including one from the State Attorney General, a top donor who was also running for Governor.

"You know, love, I think I'll pass." Gwen eyed the growing crowd with some nerves. Even at this distance it was far noisier than anything she had encountered in quite a long while.

"All right, we can come back out when they're done; maybe this afternoon." He put the chess set away and rolled her back indoors.

In the crowd a man watched them pack up and head in.

He asked a friend with a telephoto lens on his digital camera to take a few pictures for him.

**Later**

Spencer and Gwen were settled in her room having lunch when Spencer's phone rang.

Derek Morgan was on the other end. "Step outside, we need to talk."

"All right," he went to kiss Gwen's cheek before leaving.

"You can kiss me you know."

"It won't bother you?" He found that surprising.

"No, none of them ever kissed me."

"Oh." He kept it gentle and brief, and was quite pleased by the smile it brought to her face.

As he waited outside for Derek he found a spot where he could watch the events, even from a distance. They had been in the hospital for weeks now, and even with his love of academics giving him ample to do, he admitted to being a bit bored. It looked like the ribbon was just being cut, and the tour of dignitaries was beginning.

As luck would have it, the tour reached his perch from one direction just as Derek, with a man and a woman who were obviously agents, arrived from the other.

"I heard the FBI was in residence." The man who stopped was clearly the center of attention. Spencer automatically started profiling. A golden boy, he thought, comes from money and is comfortable with it, confident, the kind of confidence that comes with true power. Thinks he is better than everyone around him, is here trying to play the Everyman because he wants something. Likes being in control; he's got his aids hopping. And they are all female; he's not comfortable with strong men around or he likes dominating women.

"SSA Derek Morgan," Derek politely offered his hand. "And Dr. Spencer Reid, we're with the Behavioral Analysis Unit." Reid shook the offered hand, looked at it, and felt his vision start to turn white.

"Jeremy Vallejo, State Attorney General. I'm running for Governor in the next election. I heard you boys did a bang up job for us recently. I have to say, as someone running on a tough on crime, family values platform, thank you.

"You're welcome, Sir. It's just part of our job." Derek watched Spencer from the corner of his eye, noted the way he was holding himself, the arm around the waist, the other up to the shoulder, the darkness in his eyes. Now what the hell is he angry at?

"Well I hope no one got hurt on the case, that's not why you're here, is it?"

"No, Dr. Reid's wife is in the hospital here. We're just waiting for her to be well enough to take home." Spencer might be upset about something, but Derek knew that being polite to politicians was part of the job.

"Oh, Dr. Reid's wife," the AG looked between the two men, smiling as only a politician can. "And you feel the need for extra security on her room?"

"So my boss tells me." Now Derek noticed Spencer looking at him, giving him a look he couldn't quite read.

"Well, let me send some state police to help." He nodded to an aid that got on the phone, "Never can be too careful with an officer's family."

Derek looked over as his friend finally spoke up. "That's an unusual ring." Spencer noticed, "May I ask the symbolism?"

AG Vallejo held up his ring where the two men could see, a heavy, gold oval with a raised edge. Inside was a raised design of a heart, topped with a skewed cross. "It's my family's brand. We've used it since the days of the Spanish land grants to, um…mark our cattle." His eyes met Spencer's, as his smile grew just a bit…satisfied.

He knows, Spencer thought. He knows. I do not like violence. I do not believe it truly solves anything. But if the hospital had let me carry my gun this might just end here. "Fascinating." How he managed a smile he would never know. "Well, we shouldn't take up any more of your time."

"Oh. No problem. Tell all your local friends to vote for me." AG Vallejo managed to grin just a little wider as he walked off.

Spencer turned and tried to casually walk back to her room. It was almost impossible, but by putting his long legs to good use he was able to move quickly while looking calm. It was all Derek could do to keep up. "Man, what is wrong with you?"

"We missed an unsub." Spencer swiped a campaign flyer as they went, and folded it into his pocket.

"Yeah, we did…wait, how did you know?"

Spencer turned to the two junior agents, "I want two people outside her room at all times. No one gets in without prior authorization, not even someone from another agency." He stopped an aid going by. "Could you find Dr. Moreland, please? Tell him it's important." They got to the room and he stuck his head in to make sure. She was sitting there with a book and a cup of tea. "I'll be right outside." Only then did he stop and talk to Derek, "You first."

Derek quickly summed up the loss of the other witnesses, the suspects and the current theory. "And Hotch didn't get a word in through official channels. You can guess how he reacted to that. The team is on their way to Sacramento to see what's going on."

"Do me a favor, call them and tell them to…crap." He looked over to where four state police were heading this way. We are officially outnumbered, he thought. "Come on." He opened the door and all but pulled Derek into Gwen's room shutting the door behind them. She was in the bathroom, thank God. "Call them and tell them to divert to the nearest airport, and plan to fly back as soon as we can. The AG's the missing unsub." Screw the rules, he thought. He went to a black bag in the corner and put his weapon back on his belt where it belonged.

"What?" Derek stopped in his tracks. "You cannot be serious."

"I am. And every cop in this state just became a threat." His hand went to his weapon as there was a tap on the door. Cracking it revealed the doctor. "Dr. Moreland, we believe there's been a threat to my wife. I need to take her back to Virginia, today."

Now it was Dr. Moreland's turn to be shocked. "Dr. Reid, I can't recommend that. With the amount of trauma she's been through her system is still fragile. I believe that much travel could be dangerous."

"She's stronger than you think; I think she'll be fine. I just need whatever it will take to get her through at least, um, three days. That will give us ample time to get her to a hospital there."

"I don't like it. She'll be signing out against medical orders."

"Understood, oh, and doctor, don't tell anyone out there. Please."

The doctor left and Derek turned to his friend as Gwen came out and headed back to the bed. "You are serious, aren't you?"

"Yes," Spencer went to sit with Gwen on the bed. "Sweetheart, I know this is going to be embarrassing and hard, and I am sorrier than you know that I have to ask you, but I need you to show Derek that scar we talked about this morning."

"What?" She can still blush, he thought, after all that has happened. "Why?"

"Please. It's important."

Her cheeks flush with embarrassment she managed to hitch up her skirt, and show the small, oval burn scar on her thigh. He said it was to mark his cattle, Derek thought. "Ouch."

I don't want to do this, Spencer thought, but we have to know the facts. And if she knows she'll be more careful. He pulled the flyer from his pocket and held it up. "Is this him?" He winced as he watched the color drain from her face.

"You said you got them all!"

"I thought we did." He put the flyer down so he could hold his wife as Derek muttered, "sonofabitch" and got on the phone. "It will be all right. As soon as the rest of the team gets here we'll fly back to Virginia. In the meantime we are just going to sit here with the guards outside, and wait. Everything will be fine."

"I can't go back to that Spencer. I can't." She was shaking with fear. Damn it, he thought, I wanted this to be over for her. I wanted this to be over.

"You won't. I promise." No matter what, he thought, no matter what.

**There**

A battered car pulled up to a hangar. A few minutes later a shiny SUV pulled up beside.

One man got out of each vehicle. The SUV kept bouncing gently, as if something was still inside.

"Got what you need?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Oh yeah."


	7. Chapter 7

**The Escape.**

**UCLA Medical Center – Four hours later.**

It seemed like forever that they were in that hospital room. Karen came in eventually, was filled in on the problem, and immediately began her usual, practical help. "Don't worry about your things, only take what is medically necessary or has sentimental value. I'll pack up your bags and ship them to your office overnight, Spencer. I can do the same with whatever's at the hotel. And I'll meet you out in Virginia in a few days. You'll get through this, just you watch." In the end they split what was needed between a backpack for Derek Morgan and Spencer's satchel, and Gwen only insisted on her teddy bear.

The team landed in Santa Monica. Garcia had passed along an e-mail Morgan had sent, detailing the situation, and explaining that he was concerned about the police monitoring cell phones. They weren't supposed to, but who knew exactly how many favors the AG was owed, or how many he would be owing soon. It was all of ten minutes from the small airport to the hospital, but as soon as they got there, JJ's phone was ringing.

She hung behind as the others went in to the hospital. Karen met them at the door, and walked with them to the room. "Remember, keep your voices calm and low, and don't make any sudden noises," she said to Hotch, and especially to Rossi, who most resembled the unsubs. "Give her lots of space, and don't act like you're going to touch her in any way."

"Of course," Rossi replied, understanding completely. "Prentiss, you get to double check this mark against that picture Garcia found." The woman nodded, and then turned as JJ met them by the nurses' station. She nodded the group out of earshot of the State Police, standing near the FBI agents, guarding the door.

"There's a problem. A narc team was making a sweep, looking for smugglers, when the dogs spotted on our plane. The pilot told them it's an FBI plane, but they're insisting the paperwork is forged, and are tearing it apart to check for smuggled drugs. It's going to be hours before it's all cleared up, if not the morning."

"Cute." Rossi grumbled. "It leaves her in state and vulnerable that much longer, gives him a chance to plan something."

"And meanwhile the state and local cops are tracking her every move." Hotch turned to the team. "We'll take this in stages. The Federal Building is less than a mile from here. Let's get her that far and see what we can do."

They worked out the plan, who took point, who covered the back. Finally, they left the room, Spencer pushing his wife in her wheelchair.

"Hey, you guys leaving?" asked one of the State Police.

"Just going for dinner," Spencer replied, hoping they would buy the lie since they weren't taking obvious luggage.

They got to the SUV's, went around to the far side. Morgan and Prentiss were riding with Gwen and Spencer, Hotch, Rossi and JJ were taking the second car, the other two agents the third. Once out of sight of the hospital entrance, Morgan told Spencer to get in first. "Here you go little sister." He literally lifted Gwen up and put her in the seat next to her husband, before getting in to turn the car around and drive away.

"Damn it." Prentiss said. She'd been watching the door and saw the State Police officer who had asked them if they were leaving watching them, and speaking into a cell phone.

"I'm sure the others saw it." Morgan countered, "If we call they can track it, and know we know. It's less than a mile, let's just get there."

It ought to be a short trip, even with the downtown traffic, south on Westwood, then east on Wilshire, then a quick south on Meuse to get into the parking area. They got about a third of the way there before the traffic hit, and they were all but stopped.

"Is this normal?" Morgan asked, as he tried to track every moving thing around him.

"It's not that abnormal." Spencer replied. "It is LA." He'd been holding Gwen's hand gently, more like letting it rest in his. "Are you all right?"

"There's just so much." She was watching the sidewalks as they went by. So much movement, so much _light_, it made her dizzy. She closed her eyes and leaned over a bit, to rest her head on his shoulder.

"It looks like some kind of roadwork." Prentiss was trying to crane around to see. "They're routing a detour, to the right from the looks of it."

Spencer looked around. "That would be Kinross. Take it for one block, and then turn left onto Gayley, that will take us down to Wilshire, and then turn right."

Morgan chuckled. "Maybe now that your wife is back you can find something other than memorizing maps to do before bed." He wasn't nearly as amused by the turn, two lanes of traffic down to one, and now there were two cars between them and the one Hotch was driving in front.

They were all privately surprised to hear Gwen chuckle with them. "He's going to have to be patient; the doctors haven't cleared me yet."

Prentiss kept trying to look everywhere as well, as they turned on to Gayley. "Oh good, there's time to start a pool."

Spencer could not let this pass. "You know, there are some maps that can be considered pornogra…"

With a loud CRACK the windshield shattered inward.

Gwen screamed as Spencer pulled her over and down into his lap, shielding her behind the first row of seats. He slid down himself, as her head rest exploded.

"Sniper!" Prentiss caught sight of a flash off the barrel, "Garage on the left!"

"Got it!" Morgan started muttering curses, two lanes of traffic turning into four, two turning right, which was how he needed to go, but a red light. Fuck it. "Hang on!" He hit the gas, pulled into the straight lane, dodged traffic and turned down Wilshire. He passed Hotch, Rossi and JJ at full speed, barreled down Wilshire while Prentiss screamed into her phone for them to Open The Security Barrier NOW!!, took the corner at Meuse on what must have been two wheels, and finally pulled into the parking structure. He pulled up right in front of the elevators and parked. "Is everyone okay?" He asked as he was moving. Hearing three yeses he pulled open the door just as the other cars were pulling up, hauled Gwen out of her seat and took her straight into the elevator. As far as he was concerned questions could wait, he was getting his little sister-in-law to safe harbor.

**US Federal Building, Los Angeles, CA.**

Morgan deposited Gwen on a couch in an out of the way conference room, one with the standard glass walls, and then went back to the elevators to meet the others and give his report. Spencer dropped on to the couch next to her. "How are you?"

"Mmm, dizzy." She leaned over until she was using his lap as a pillow. "It seems like everything has been a blur for…I don't know how long, since I was having tea in my room."

"Shhh, I think you're disassociating. Which is understandable, it's been that kind of an afternoon." He gently ran his fingers through his hair as he watched the rest of the team meeting with some other people he didn't know.

"Do you have a house?" It was a question that caught him off guard.

"No. I have an apartment. Actually it's about as crappy as the old faculty housing. Why?"

"Because I'd like to go home;" she sighed a little, watched nothing in particular. "I mean, home is wherever you are, but it is impossible to picture an intangible concept. I'd like to have a home to go to, I think."

"So, picture one. Whatever you want, we'll make it come true."

"Hmmm, quilts. I want a linen closet with lots of clean sheets and lots of quilts to snuggle in."

"I suppose you want a big, soft bed too."

"Yes, with lots of pillows and a fireplace; and a hot cup of tea."

He was about to ask if he could join her there when the door to the conference room came open, and the current argument came inside with the team.

"By all rights I should be getting the Marshall Service up here right now." One of the strangers was saying, loudly, and with a great deal of bluster. "She ought to be in Witness Protection immediately."

"I don't believe that's practical." Hotch disagreed. "For one thing she still needs specialized care that would hamper any attempt at hiding her. For another Dr. Spencer Reid is a valuable part of this team, we'd be hampered in our mission without him."

"Then she goes and he stays with the BAU until we can bring all this to trial."

The entire team/argument looked over at the clear, firm "No." that came from the couch.

"I know you want me to testify, and I will, gladly. But I am staying with my husband." Gwen was quiet and firm. "I am not losing a minute more of my life than I have to to those monsters and that includes my marriage and Spencer's career."

"We could put you in protective custody." The blustering stranger shot back.

"You'd lose the whole team." Rossi had to point out to him,

The stranger looked at all the faces around him. They all agreed, he realized, and they all meant it. "Well, let's hope you're right. Make the best of the time you have before your plane is ready." He stomped off.

"I doubt the AG has that much power outside of the state. Once we get back to Virginia we should be fine." Hotch looked over at the young woman sitting on the couch. Spencer was right, he thought, she's a lot stronger than she appears. "Look Dr…Reid…Uhhh, Gwen?" It was a question, and she nodded a yes. "We need to know as much as we can about the men. Can you look at some pictures for us?"

I don't know, Gwen thought to herself, as she slowly stood and leaned heavily on her husband so she could take the few steps to the table. I don't know if I can ever look at them again and not end up shrieking. "Yes, of course. I'll help in any way I can."

**War Memorial Opera House, San Francisco, CA.**

Intermission was a quiet affair. Dim lights, low voices, elegant dresses, tonight, an open bar. "Well, Jeremy, has that issue been dealt with?"

Jeremy Vallejo was drinking perhaps more scotch than usual. "Not so far, Mark, hopefully tomorrow."

"Hopefully. Too bad to lose that asset though."

"With any luck, between us, we won't have to."


	8. Chapter 8

**The East**

**Southbound Interstate 405**

The motorcade left the Federal Building before dawn, heading for the BAU plane at the Santa Monica airport. Even at that hour the interstate was busy, and traffic was moving slowly, made worse by repair work that had started overnight, taking it down from six lanes to two. As it passed the Santa Monica Blvd. on ramp a long semi came onto the interstate, and navigated its way next to the motorcade. Just as the lanes opened back up the semi swerved, slamming three of the SUV's into the concrete barrier. The semi then quickly veered away, turning down the ramp onto the 10. The end result was an instant traffic jam, and a need for rescue equipment, and ambulances.

Eventually the rescue equipment arrived, and started untangling the mess. Multiple ambulances were called, even though the near crawl of traffic meant that no one was seriously hurt. They sorted who went where, with one ambulance taking the small, brown-haired girl and tall, skinny fellow who insisted on staying together.

Mission accomplished.

**Outside Cabazon, CA**

One thing the downturn in the economy had done was create a lot of empty real estate. The warehouse the ambulance pulled in to was once used by some small, mail order company. Now Jeremy Vallejo and Peter Brekner, president of Cal Tech, had other uses for the space. They stood there, puffing cigars, surrounded by tables bearing the tools of their pleasure.

"You know, I've dreamed of this." Brekner murmured to his companion as they waited in the open space for the vehicle to pull in.

"I thought you'd had a turn at that little whore. I mean, after I popped her cherry." Vallejo laughed into his coffee. Too bad it was far too early for scotch. "No hard feelings about that, I hope. Those eyes were impossible to resist. You should have seen the heartbreak in them when she realized what her hubby didn't get."

"No, no, I had my fun with her. They are amazing, aren't they? No…" Brekner chuckled, "…No, I'm looking forward to crushing that little pain in the ass. I can't wait to see the look on that puppy dog face as we show him just what his little wifey has become." Of course his phone would choose that moment to ring. Even in the summer, an administrator had no peace.

The ambulance finally pulled in, and the well-paid henchmen opened the back and started pulling the "patients" out. Well-drugged and well-restrained, it was hard to even recognize them at first.

"Get her up here on the table." Vallejo ordered the men, "And strap him up against that wall. I want him to have a good view of the proceedings."

The men finished their tasks quickly and efficiently. One of them turned to Vallejo. "Do you want us to dispose of the vehicle, sir?"

"No, it's safe enough in here. I want you two to stay. We'll all have a turn at her eventually." The better to remind her of her status, he thought. He set about cutting off her clothes, admitting how well she had healed.

Brekner finally got off the phone and came over to pull the skinny man's head up by the hair. "Wait. This isn't Reid!" He yelled in shock just as the cry of "Federal Agents!" Was heard, and the SWAT team came pouring in.

Within moments both Vallejo and Brekner were arrested, and a real medic team was bringing Agents Keri Southwood and Tim Billings around. No one was harmed.

**Crossing the Mississippi River by air**

"And that's all she wrote folks." Garcia wrapped up the report on the capture of Vallejo and Brekner. "Oh, and tell Reid that there will be a transport van waiting to take him and Gwen to the Rockwood Rehabilitation Hospital here in Prince William County. Now that Vallejo is caught Dr. Kajie is sending her records from UCLA."

"Got it, Garcia, thank you much," JJ signed off, and walked down to where Spencer was sitting on the couch, with Gwen using his lap as a pillow. "Hey, did you hear all that?"

"Brekner." Spencer was turning all that over in his mind, the implications of that. "He took over as President that semester; he'd only been in the office a few months. He must have started the whole thing in motion when we met him at the faculty reception. Everyone was introducing us as the newlyweds. I remember something about him made her uncomfortable, but she couldn't put a finger on it. God, and I was in his office nearly every day from when she was taken until I left for Quantico. And all the time he knew." Spencer just looked at the ceiling of the plane and slowly shook his head.

"You couldn't have known Spence. Anyway, it's over now." JJ squeezed his arm briefly. "You two can start a whole new life."

"Can we?" Spencer managed a humorless smile. "There are still two more unsubs out there."

"Yes, but what are the odds that they can reach that far?" JJ got up to rejoin the others, giving the couple some privacy. "All your problems are going to be far, far away."

"I just hope you're right." As JJ moved away Spencer went back to gently running his fingers through his wife's hair. She's alive, he marveled once again. She's alive and safe and still wants me in her life. The world is right again.

"I'm awake you know." Gwen murmured, not bothering to move an inch. She was tired. Even all stretched out like this, travel tired you; all the little movements to adapt to.

"Mmm, were you listening then? Brekner was in on it."

"Yes, I know. Believe me, _I know_." She decided it was worth rolling over to look at him. "I thought you found me by finding him."

"Nope, we went a completely different way. That's why you didn't want to go back to Cal Tech, isn't it. But, you thought we had him?"

"He liked to torture me by describing what I had been doing when he first thought up his chosen activities. I don't think there's a corner of campus that I wouldn't associate with something horrible now." She closed her eyes and sighed. "He ruined my home for me."

"I told you, we'll build another one." He laid his hand over her wrist, not holding it, not wanting to frighten her, but the closest he could get to holding her hand. "One with lots of quilts and pillows and clean sheets and a big, soft bed by a fire."

"Mmm, and cats, the big, snuggly kind."

"Cats, no dogs?"

She closed her eyes and shuddered "No."

Damn it, he thought. I am an idiot, "No, of course not, I'm sorry. no dogs."

"No dogs. Maybe a colonial? Or a Victorian? Something old, with lots of little rooms. A library, I think. Lots of books. And a big bathtub, with flower scented soap. And a very full larder."

"Of course, always."

"Can we paint the library something in red?"

"If you want."

The discussion continued as they flew into the sunrise.

**______ "B" St, Washington DC**

Breakfast. Orange juice. Coffee. Sausage. Eggs.

"My sources tell me Vallejo and Brekner were arrested this morning."

Served early. Before meetings.

"So I heard."

"Will they talk?"

"They knew the risks."

Before the lobbyists. Before the committee members. Before the press.

"You're sure?"

"They know better."

"And what about the witness? Do we know where to find her?"

Before the Senate opened for business.

"We will."


	9. Chapter 9

**The Game**

**Three months later.**

"**JJ" Jareau's house , Fredericksburg, VA.**

"OK, since when has Reid become such a sex god?" Garcia dropped her voice and asked JJ, as soon as they got to the kitchen to start bringing out the food.

Summer had turned into fall, and this was the weekend of the Redskin's opening game. JJ, the biggest fan, had invited everyone over for a BBQ to celebrate, including the Reids, now that Gwen was walking enough to get a day pass from the rehab hospital. It had been a long few months, months of building her strength, of relearning how to be in the world, of getting used to noise and people again; of learning how to cope with nightmares, flashbacks and the lingering memories. But she had done it, with the help of her husband. Now there was one last hurdle to be overcome. She still needed hand surgery, which was coming next week. A week after that and she would be cleared to go home, to finish therapy as an out patient.

Right now she and her husband were engaged in one of those spirited chess games that they had always enjoyed. He was playing black, she white, with the help of her big brother-in-law, one Derek Morgan. When they got there he had almost begged for a chess game before the football game started.

"I don't understand," Spencer had to comment. "It's not like you're actually playing. Gwen's calling the moves; you're just moving the pieces for her."

"Yea, but this is the closest I'm ever going to get to beating you at this. I intend to enjoy it as much as I can." Morgan just laughed and settled in next to his sister-in-law on the other side of the board.

In the meantime, JJ and Garcia were in the kitchen. Garcia hadn't seen the Reids in months, few of them had. The changes had shocked her.

"What do you mean?" JJ asked, just as Prentiss was coming in the back door.

"What are we talking about?" Prentiss started emptying her bag of chips and beer.

"Reid becoming a hottie second only to Derek Morgan, God of Olympus. He's let his hair grow, for one, and he kind of has a moustache and beard scruffy thing going on. It's very young Johnny Depp."

"You're kidding." Prentiss stuck her head around the door to say hello. And there was Spencer, lounging back in a chair, looking better than she had ever seen him, in a v-neck sweater and white t-shirt, and yes, with facial hair. Prentiss came back, shocked herself. "Well, it's understandable. They encourage the spouses of abuse victims to change their facial hair patterns, to help prevent flashbacks during intimate moments. But has he put on muscle?"

"Morgan's been dragging him to the gym, to work out some of the anger." JJ informed them. "And I'm sure having his wife back has given him his appetite back too. He's not living on coffee anymore."

"And I'd be willing to bet she's the one dressing him now." Garcia grinned. "I for one am not going to complain."

Rossi was outside with Hotch, manning the grill. They couldn't help but hear through the cracked open kitchen window. He turned to Hotch, and kept his voice low. "What's your take on all that?"

"What do you mean?" Hotch closed the kettle lid on the chicken, and settled back to find a beer. "What they're talking about? It's all superficial changes."

"Yea, but it's not just that. He's not the bumbling puppy anymore. He doesn't deflect intimacy with a barrage of statistics and trivia like he used to. You can see the confidence in him now, he's become.." Rossi thought for a moment. "…an alpha male among alpha males, even if he does still defer to leadership."

"What do I think?" Hotch closed his eyes a moment. I think we were played, he thought. We were played by two of the most brilliant minds I ever met. Jason Gideon told us to expect a socialy inept boy-genius and that's exactly what we saw. We never stopped to think that that boy, that has been through more experiences by the time he was twenty-one than most men have gone through by fifty, is a grown man, not a child, regardless of what the calendar says. And so he made us believe he was a bumbling puppy of a boy, all the while giving 100% to the team, and still had enough mind power left over to use the greatest collection of resources in this country to conduct his own investigation to try to find his wife. He fooled the best team of profilers the country has to offer, daily, and with resources left over. Now I am going to let all this go because that kind of a mind needs to be here, and because if it had been Haley and I had been able I would have done exactly the same. And because when the chips were down he put the team ahead of his cover every time. I know this because he did not aim for Phillip Dowd's leg, he nailed that head shot, right in front of me, risking that I might question that. I know this because two days ago he qualified expert on firearms after barely passing every time before. But I know that if I ever see Gideon again I am going to tell him that I know exactly what he did to help the man he considers his son.

Hotch opened his eyes and smiled at Rossi. "I think we're not supposed to profile each other."

From inside the house they heard JJ's voice. "Hey, it's almost time for the kick-off!"

Sadly, the chess game was not quite over. "Queen b3 to b6, check." Gwen called. "You might as well give up now, I'll have you with my next more."

"No you won't." Spencer studied the board with a frown. "Damn it" Morgan started laughing as they won again.

"Come on guys." JJ waved them over to where everyone was assembling in front of the TV. Spencer helped his wife over to the front, settled himself on the floor and then helped her ease down into his lap. Given that her hands were still nearly useless one of the first things they had worked on with Karen was her accepting someone helping her to eat. Down here he could wrap long arms and legs about her, and offer whatever was at hand without blocking anyone's view.

Gwen didn't complain. There was no place safer or warmer than being in her love's arms. Add their friends to the mix and everything was nearly complete. Except…"I thought you hated football." She murmured as she leaned back into his chest.

"Shhh." He popped a handy bit of chips and salsa into her mouth. "It's too much fun being here." She could only smile, chew and agree.

Hotch watched them from the back of the crowd, smiling slightly. No, he was not going to say a word.

**1118 King St., Fredericksburg, VA. **

The Redskins won, the chicken was perfect, and the gathering was a blast. Now the Reids were on the way back to the hospital, for just a few more weeks. It was only a few miles from JJ's house, but even with that Morgan insisted he had to drive..

Except Gwen could have sworn they were going in the wrong direction. "Where are we going?"

"One stop first," Morgan was being awfully mysterious. He and Spencer were sitting in the front sharing these little smiles. Those two were clearly Up To Something!

They turned one corner, and then another, ending up on a quiet, dead end street that butted up against one of the many parks in the area. On one side the houses sat on a hill overlooking the Rappahannock River. Morgan pulled into the driveway of an old blue house with a big porch, and parked.

The house had a for sale sign in the yard.

Gwen could feel her heart pounding. Spencer got out and opened her door. She slid out and took his arm as they walked up the porch steps, to where Morgan was fiddling with the lock box. "Now it's only three miles to the train station, and 15 minutes from there to Quantico, or so my realtor says, and that the schools are good and there's a park just down the street, in case you two decide to make a little Reid sometime." He grinned as he got the door open, and reached in to flip on the light and chase away the gathering dusk. "Go in and take a look."

Gwen made a slow tour of the downstairs. A small parlor where you could see the road. A larger library, with lots of built-in bookcases and space for two desks. A trim dining room, and a big kitchen, renovated but made to look period. A new addition, with the rest of the kitchen, laundry room, mud room. From the back porch she could look down the hill to the river and the park across the way. It looked like there was a garden down there, raised beds, space for chickens.

"What do you think?" Spencer asked.

She only smiled at him, and headed upstairs. There were three bedrooms from the looks of it, two smaller that shared a bath and one master, with a big, new bathroom over the addition. With a big tub, of course.

And the master had a fireplace. And the only furniture currently in the house, a big four-poster feather bed.

"Well, what do you think?" Spencer was leaning in the doorway, smiling.

It was perfect, she thought, cozy and yet with ample space. She could put a rocking chair on the porch, watch the river; all that sun and outdoors, and her own home to retreat to.

Her own home.

"Can we…?" She didn't want to know if it could be afforded. She didn't want to know unless it was a sure thing.

"Yes, we can. I had to sell my parents' house, to pay for the asylum for Mom, but that was in Vegas at the height of the boom, and she had insurance so it didn't take that much. And, you know, I really haven't spent anything in the past few years. Now that prices have come down, and all, well, we'll definitely be able to buy some quilts."

A home. A real home, just for them. She walked over and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his chest as she looked up at him. "I think it's perfect."

"Well then, welcome home." He smiled as he leaned down to kiss her.

"Well?" Morgan's voice echoed up the stairs.

"You know you're going to have to help me repack all those boxes." Reid called back down.

Morgan's laugh was the only reply.

**Rockwood Rehabilitation Hospital**, **Fredericksburg, VA. **

Everything was quiet as they parked. It was later, many visitors had gone home, and they could see the TV playing Laurence Welk in the rec room.

"I will be very happy to be out of this place." Gwen commented as she took Spencer's arm to make her way across the parking lot. It was good exercise, she knew, but she was getting tired.

"Especially now that you have a home to go to," Spencer was still smiling. "I admit, I was kind of worried about that for a while. "I'm thinking maybe a housekeeper or something, at least during the day, for when I'm off on a case. At least until your hands are all the way back." The first set of automatic doors came open, as they approached, then the second Morgan headed out ahead of them.

Morgan went around the corner and frowned at the unmanned front desk. It was quiet all right, too quiet. He motioned the couple back as he pulled out his weapon. Spencer frowned, but took the hint, putting Gwen behind him and drawing his own gun.

Morgan checked out the desk, saw nothing but an overturned cup of coffee to indicate that anything was wrong. But it was quiet, so much so that he could hear the faint champagne music coming from down the hall. He turned the corner, out of sight of Spencer, and went to check out the first room. Turning at a sound behind him the last thing he saw was the rifle butt coming straight at his head.

**Note to the readers: **The question is, how graphic shall I make the next scene? Please weigh in with comments. Thank you.


	10. Chapter 10

**Note: **This chapter very much rated M

**The Truth**

**Rockwood Rehabilitation Hospital , Fredericksburg, VA.**

**Later**

Morgan groaned as he held his head in his hands. They wanted him to go to the emergency room, told him he might have a concussion. But there was no way in hell he was going. Not now. Not with his friends missing.

While they had been deciding on the Reid's new home, masked gunmen had taken over the hospital. They had disabled the phone and alarms, and locked patients and staff in their rooms or behind fire doors. No one else had been hurt, but both Gwen and Spencer Reid were now missing.

Hotch and Rossi were sitting at the security desk, going over and over the surveillance tapes. So far they had decided that the men had military training, more than likely Special Forces. As soon as they had knocked him out one of them had crept up behind Gwen, grabbing her, causing Spencer to turn around. At which point they had grabbed him, got his hand behind his back. Syringes of drugs all around, and then their limp bodies were carried out to a van and gone. It had been nearly ninety minutes before he had woken up and called for help. Ninety remarkably long minutes. At which point a full court press had ensued to find the missing agent and his wife.

But at this point all he could do was sit and curse. That was all any of them could do.

**______ "B" St, Washington DC**

Spencer came to lying in a big four poster bed, in an even bigger room. One that screamed "old money to anyone who ever walked in. He wished someone would make the world less blurry, and take the small rat from the back of his mouth.

Drugs, he thought. At least it's not Dilaudid.

His wrists were still trapped behind him. He rolled over onto his back, and tried to get a feel for where he was, what was going on, what he had to work with.

This was not the best plan.

The first thing that caught his eye was Gwen. She was standing in front of a large bookcase that was built into the wall. No, correction, she was hanging there, her wrists tied up and out, and bearing most of her dead weight. Next to her was a large fireplace, holding a bed of glowing coals. Between the two were two tables, one bare and sturdy, the other draped in white, holding a series of torture tools that turned his stomach.

This is not good, he thought.

They were alone in the room at least, and she was still alive, he could see the even rise and fall of her chest. So he moved on to seeing what he had to work with.

The first thing he started to do was see how much slack he had in his wrists.

**Rockwood Rehabilitation Hospital , Fredericksburg, VA.**

Garcia had shown up, and was going over the videos with even finer attention to detail. They were still the best evidence they had.

"Wait. What's he doing there?" Rossi pointed to Spencer's wrists, in the frame where he was being bound. "Can you get closer?"

"I can do whatever it takes." Garcia zoomed in on the small spot in the frame, and advanced it more slowly.

Hotch picked it first. "It's a magician's trick. He's flexing and bracing his wrists so the bonds aren't as tight as they think. It gives him some slack to work with."

Morgan managed something that was almost a smile. "That's my boy."

**______ "B" St, Washington DC**

So he didn't have his gun, which was nowhere to be seen. But from the feel in his back pocket he still had something almost as good. He thought they left him his cell phone.

Great, he thought, now I just have to free my wrists and call the cavalry. He was just getting started on the knots when the door opened.

Senator Tom Harkness, junior senator from California, blond and tanned and very large, came in, followed by a man not immediately recognizable, one who looked small and hard and military. They were careful to close the door behind them. The smaller man, Spencer noticed, was armed.

"Well, Dr. Reid, you have been a remarkable pain in my ass." The Senator stood there, arms crossed, looking down at him.

Now Spencer couldn't move as much or as quickly as he liked, but he kept worrying at that knot. "My apologies Senator, but I can't say I regret shutting you down."

The Senator laughed. "That doesn't surprise me. You've done remarkably good work with the BAU, your country is grateful I'm sure. It's too bad it won't continue past tonight I just want to show you what exactly is going to be happening to little sewer here before you go. You see, I have a friend in Riyadh willing to pay me handsomely for her, even though she's no longer exactly pure. At least enough to rebuild the network you destroyed, I believe you owe me that much. So tonight she's on her way by cargo ship, and you're going to be dealt with by my friend Ari here. But, I want you to go to your death knowing exactly what is going to be happening to her. That would bring me the greatest pleasure so far.

Spencer was looking past him to where Gwen was coming around, realizing who was in the room, her sapphire eyes filling with terror. "Little sewer, that doesn't sound like a new nickname." The emotional side of his mind stopped screaming long enough to be amazed that the intellectual side got that out his mouth.

"Oh no, she's met Ari and me here many times." Behind the two men Gwen nodded, these were the two remaining unsubs. "Tonight is just for old time's sake. With ten days in that container she'll heal well enough for Riyadh. We just want to be careful, "He looked over at the smaller man, "leave the permanent alterations for them. They have very precise specifications. So," He rubbed his hands together, bouncing on the balls of his feet, clearly excited. "…shall we begin?"

**Rockwood Rehabilitation Hospital , Fredericksburg, VA. – Four hours later**

"Bingo!" Garcia all but screamed as her laptop went off beside her. "Reid got his cell phone on. One moment…" they all held their breaths. "….He's in DC, on "B" street. And he's holding steady." She rattled off an address, and the room flew into motion.

Even with a large knot on his head, Morgan was determined to go with them. Hold on little brother, he thought, help is on the way.

**______ "B" St, Washington DC**

"You know, Ari, I've never worked over a man before. It's just not to my tastes. But there is something very girlish about this one, isn't there? Something about the hair, perhaps. Maybe I ought to take the opportunity before we eliminate him." The Senator leaned over the bed where Spencer was lying, looking up at him with dead eyes. Ari, the Senator's henchman, stood beside the bed, looking Spencer over as if considering the idea.

For once Spencer wasn't babbling. He was too cold now, too filled with a rage that didn't burn, it froze the blood instead. After all that he had witnessed he just wanted these men very, very dead. And he wanted them to suffer while they died, he could easily torture them now, and nothing else would do now, nothing. The truth was, he realized, that if pushed far enough he could be a very violent man. Some part of him filed that disturbing realization away for another time.

Behind the Senator, Gwen lay in a ball on the carpet, naked, bleeding, and sobbing, not even realizing she was sobbing. Something lying there, on the floor, had caught her eye. Now she was slowly flexing her hands as best she could; flexing and clenching, just to see if she could….

"So, Ari, do you concur? Shall we begin?" The Senator was just leaning over when they could hear footsteps on the stairs. Both men turned, just enough for Spencer to take advantage, throwing himself at the smaller, armed man, now that his wrists were free.

The Senator was startled, took two steps back, and tripped over the huddling Gwen, who turned on him. It took both her hands and all her remaining strength to hold the knife they had used, but hold it she did. And her aim was true. With a cry she plunged it into his throat and had her first revenge.

Spencer and Ari were grappling for the gun. Just as the door flew open and Derek Morgan's cry of "Federal Agents!" was heard the gun went off, and Ari's body slipped to the floor.

It was over.

**Note**: I am not comfortable putting those missing four hours on a site that's open to all ages, even with this rated mature. If you want them, please PM me and tell me you're eighteen.


	11. Chapter 11

**The Aftermath**

**Washington Hospital Center, Washington DC.**

In the end, Spencer's injuries were minor. Gwen's were much more severe. It took the trauma team a few hours to deal with her injuries. But, in the end, she would recover.

She'd been too incoherent to tell anyone her side of the story. Eventually they left her alone, tried to give her something to help her rest. She refused it; she wasn't ready to rest yet. She wanted to think first. Actually, she wanted to mourn first.

I did not want him to see that, she thought as she curled on her side in the hospital room, ignoring the tubes. I did not want him to know that and now he knows and will never forget. How will he ever look at me again and not see that? How? It would have been better off if I had died on that floor. Then he would have had nothing but good memories for the rest of his life. I should leave him now and spare him any more pain.

Spencer heard her sob once, as he walked into the too quiet room. He came over, pulled up a chair and sat so his head was on the same level as hers. Ever so gently he leaned over, so he could whisper, as he touched her hair. "Hey." He barely breathed. "I came in here to say I was sorry. I should have protected you. But that's not enough to say."

"I wanted to protect you." She was dry sobbing now. "I didn't want you to know those things. I am so sorry." She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. "I don't know, maybe I should go away, so you don't have to look at me and remember all that."

Maybe I am saving her, he thought. Maybe I am saving her still. "Do you know what I remember, when I look at you?" He pulled her into his arms as best he could and just held her. "I remember the first time we played chess, and I thought that you were the smartest girl I'd ever met. I remember the first time you walked across campus with your hair down and how amazingly beautiful you were. I remember the first time we kissed and that you tasted like butterscotch. And I remember how you blushed when I asked you to marry me. That is all I thought about while you were gone, and that is all I will think about now when I look at you. Please don't go away and deprive me of looking at you."

She was openly sobbing now. He held her close and let his own tears fall into her hair. Finally she leaned back enough to look at him. "Now what do we do?"

"Now we go home." He said, not letting go, "As soon as you get out of here. And you are going to take a long, hot bath and I am going to cook you breakfast." And then I will go about erasing every one of their marks from your soul, he thought. "And then we'll take it from there."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

**Three months later**

**1118 King St., Fredericksburg, VA. **

"Well, what do you think?" Spencer didn't understand the point of all the decorating for Christmas. He privately thought it was a waste of resources, especially when you didn't have children, and didn't plan to succumb to the overwhelming tide of commercialism that seemed to befall the country every year. But Gwen had insisted, since there was snow outside there had to be decorations inside. She wanted a Christmas this year. And if that was what she wanted, that was what she would get. Besides, she let him turn the place into a haunted mansion for Halloween. They had been the hit of the neighborhood. He stepped down off the ladder and looked up at the angel that seemed to perch precariously on the top of the tree.

"I think it's perfect." Gwen was sitting there wrapping presents, mostly books and CD's this year. She wanted to make things for their friends, their extended family, but even after finding out she didn't need hand surgery after forcing her joints open that night, she still didn't have enough strength or time yet to get it all done. Still, she could do so much more now. She could, for example, tie a ribbon bow on a gift. It's the little things that catch you, she thought, and they make you want to cry.

"What are you thinking?" He came over to sit beside her on the old, wood framed couch, shoving over one of the rag doll cats that had been rescued from the nearby shelter. She was just looking at her hands, an odd, teary look on her face. She still had those from time to time; even after all the work they had been doing with Karen. Odd moments when she would remember something, or worse, have a flashback and be there, reliving and reprocessing. With patience they had learned to work with and around them. He had learned to always ask, talk, keep her engaged in the here and now, and always listen.

"I'm thinking that there is so much that I can do now. I can sew again, and write, and take care of my own house, and Penelope is teaching me how to knit socks. And come spring we're going to have chickens and a garden. But there's one thing I still have yet to try.

"I thought we'd gotten over your inflated sense of justice." Spencer frowned. For the first few weeks it seemed like every time he turned around she was either pulling at his clothes or trying to remove them. When he stopped her she would go off upset. Finally Karen had pried it out of her, that she didn't see why he didn't want her, when he was the one who deserved what so many others had had. She just wanted to make it right, was all. It had taken quite while to convince her that justice and fairness didn't matter so much as what her needs were in the matter.

"It's not that." She looked up, a complicated smile on her face. "I want you. I want to crawl inside your skin and find what's warm there. I want you to be inside me, so I never lose you again. I want to erase every moment of them on my skin and replace it with every moment of you. I want to discover every wonderful thing you've promised me. I _want_ you Spencer Reid. _Please_."

Spencer thought about that a long moment. He got up, turned off the lights on the tree, closed the damper on the fire, and shut off the lamp. Then he took her by the hands, and kissed her long and deep before leading her upstairs.

It has to be right, he thought, I must do this right.

He paused long enough to light the bedroom fire. As he started it he heard a faint whisper of sound behind him. He turned just as her skirt was falling to the floor.

She finished.

He looked.

After a long moment she reached down and pulled him up, so she could help him. He needed it; his fingers were shaking so much he had trouble with the buttons. The bed was big and soft and he was as gentle and kind as she knew he could be. In the beginning he touched as if she was as delicate as spun glass; in the end they clutched each other as if they were trying to merge into one.

After the first she lay there in shock, amazed at what her body could do.

After the second she sobbed at the loss of knowing this all along.

After the third she laughed, as she realized that it would be like this forever now.

And he watched the possibilities dawn in her eyes.

The slept all night long in each other's arms as the snow made everything white and pure. And in the morning, he cooked her breakfast.

**Note**: Not quite done, one more bit to finish.


	12. Chapter 12

**Epilogue**

**1118 King St., Fredericksburg, VA. **

**Years later.**

Dr. Spenser Reid pulled into the driveway and stopped. There were a few lights on upstairs, some smoke coming from the chimney. It was late; he was just home from another case. Another unsub had been stopped. Another community went to bed safely. Hell of a way to celebrate a birthday, he thought, I'm thirty today. At least we got the guy.

He let himself in to the house, locking the door behind him. He walked through the parlor, past the chair and the embroidery stand, past the corner with the piano, the violin and the cello. His first stop was the library cum office, where he left his bag on his desk, noticed that Gwen had left him a copy of the month's calendar. She had, in the end, declined an invitation to join the BAU. I spent five years with the monsters in my body, she had said, I don't want them in my head. Instead she had taken a part time position at the FBI Academy, where she and Karen were teaching future agents how to communicate with victims, the ramifications of sexual torture and how to see things from another's point of view. It was good work; he knew she was proud of it. And he was proud of her.

His next stop was the kitchen, where he collected one of the spice cookies that had left their fragrant scent all through the house. He didn't look in the refrigerator, rather suspecting that there may be a cake in hiding. Instead he just made sure everything was locked, and collected Rufus, the cat who always waited up, to take with him upstairs.

He stopped to check the first room. There was a light on under the door, so he tapped and waited for a "Come in" before he opened it. Inside was a young man sitting in front of the computer, all of fourteen, all arms and legs and sandy blond hair. "You're up late."

"Sorry," Sam replied, "Paper due for 20th century philosophy tomorrow. I'm just finishing up. Did you get the guy?"

"Yeah, we did. I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Don't stay up much later."

"I won't. Good night, Dad."

Spencer shut the door to Sam's room, Dad. The adoption had been final for a year now, and yet that still shocked him, Dad. Sam and Livia were both gifted, both academically advanced, and had both come from hard homes where being too smart had led to abuse. With their shared experiences, he and Gwen had taken one look and known they could give the two exactly what they needed, parents who understood them, and would advocate on their behalf. And so they became a family. But he was still amazed when they called him Dad.

He peeked around the open door to Livia's room. She may have been in high school, but she still had the room, hobbies, and bedtime of a nine year old. She was sleeping on her stomach, the covers kicked down, one of the cats keeping her company. He pulled the blanket over them both, while still balancing Rufus on his shoulder. A nimble feat, he thought, but then Rufus hated to get down.

He paused a moment before the third door. If a house had a heart, he thought, this would be the one for this house.

It was there, in that big bed, that he and Gwen had become lovers that night, and finally forged the last bond that would keep them together forever. It was there that he confessed what happened with Tobias Hankel, and his addiction to Dilaudid, and where she forgave him and understood. It was there that he held her the night that they found out that the torture had been too extensive, and that they would never have children of their own. It was there that they had opened the files from the adoption agency and seen Sam's and Livia's faces for the first time, and realized that family was what you built in your heart.

I can picture her here, he thought, whenever it gets too grisly out there. She's curled up with a fire and a quilt, holding a hot mug because her hands ache and she won't admit it, with a book on her lap and a cat at her hip. I can picture her safe and warm and perfect and it keeps me going, knowing that some place is so right, when everything else is so wrong.

He opened the door and saw her there, just as he pictured, just as he dreamed. She turned her head when she heard him, and smiled.

"Welcome home."

* * *

**Note**: This is the last chapter of Spencer and Gwen's story. I may write about the time between their first Christmas in their new home and this chapter at another time. For now I'm working on a CSI:NY story. Thank you all for reading, you are the best!


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